Truly Voiceless

Staring at the wall now
I look upon my former joys.
How could I have changed so much?
Now, the poster of my favorite band just annoys.

Pictures--all from when I was young and healthy--
litter the sky-blue walls.
I feel the itch beneath my skin
praying each day another one falls.

One day, I will take them all down
if not with my hands,
with my heart and soul.
I tell them, but no one understands.

I find myself unable to speak
no matter how I try.
I beg someone to listen
to hear me when I cry.

I receive a new card,
yes, each and every day.
They always tell me how they pray,
and sometimes, I'm surprised with a colorful bouquet.

Momma always says, "Listen, my baby
I'll keep prayin', honey, and then maybe
all these people who think you can't hear me will see the errors of their ways,
and shut up so my darling girl can stay 'til her last days."

She also tells me often that think I don't respond.
Honestly, I do in my mind, but they can't see beyond.
She begs me, "Sweetie, if you can hear me, please, just let me know."
I'm tryin', Momma. Don't let them let me go.

Now, I know she's stopped believing, cuz if not, she wouldn't have told me
that, tomorrow, they're taking out my feeding tube. I have no legs to flee.
So, for days I will have to starve, and I'm not fully sure
that I'm prepared to let me go before they find a cure.